A form there was, still spared by timeTill the slow century fill'd its prime;Stretch'd on its bed, with half-closed eyeIt mark'd uncertain shades flit by;Nor scarce the varied world of soundTo the seal'd ear admittance found;While the worn brow, in wrinkles dark,Seem'd like the gnarl'd oak's roughen'd bark

In a groue most rich of shade,Where birds wanton musicke made,May then yong his pide weedes showing,New perfumed with flowers fresh growing, Astrophel with Stella sweete,Did for mutuall comfort meet,Both within themselues oppressed,But each in the other blessed

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,I all alone beweep my out-cast stateAnd trouble deaf heav'n with my bootless cries,And look upon my self and curse my fate,Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess't,Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,With what I most enjoy contented least;Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,Haply I think on thee, and then my state(Like to the lark at break of day arising)From sullen earth sings hymns at heaven's gate, For thy sweet love rememb'red such wealth brings, That then I scorn to change my state with kings

His mother goes. The mother comes & goes.
Chen Lung's too came, came and crampt & then
that dragoner's mother was gone.
It seem we don't have no good bed to lie on,
forever. While he drawing his first breath,
while skinning his knees,